


It's a Bad, Bad, Bad, Bad Fic

by LadyNorbert



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Book: Hard in Hightown - Varric Tethras, Circle Mage Bethany Hawke, Deliberate Badfic, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Friend Fiction, Gender-Neutral Hawke, Isabela (Dragon Age) and Innuendo, Isabela being Isabela (Dragon Age), Mentions of Whipped Cream, More Fluff than Smut, Mutual Pining, Story within a Story, Varric Tethras Is So Done
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-15
Updated: 2018-12-15
Packaged: 2019-09-18 15:36:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16997760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyNorbert/pseuds/LadyNorbert
Summary: Isabela gets inspired to write one of her "friend-fiction" stories about two friends who seem to need a nudge. The result is magnificently bad, but everyone loves it anyway. Well... almost everyone.





	It's a Bad, Bad, Bad, Bad Fic

**Author's Note:**

  * For [barbex](https://archiveofourown.org/users/barbex/gifts).



> The title, as you may guess, is inspired by the film "It's a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World."
> 
> Honestly, I didn't quite know what to do for my assignment. But I had the "Isabela writes friend-fiction" plot bunny crop up a couple days ago and realized it would be perfect, so here we are. It's like a clickbait article: Local fanfic author decides to write deliberately terrible smut. What happens next might make you choke. Also, minor spoilers for Varric's book "Hard in Hightown."
> 
> Special thanks to AuroraBorealia (for helping me choose the title), Laura E Moriarty (for providing me with some of Hawke's lines), Ocean-within-my-rebel-soul (for beta reading), and Bexter, CullenLovesMen, ellstersmash, and lovesquiddle (for being so encouraging). barbex, I really hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it for you!

* * *

 

_“Psst... I’ve got some of it written down now.”_

_“Give it here.”_

 

* * *

 

Isabela was not, by her own admission, the writer that Varric was. That suited her just fine, really, because she didn’t write for publication or fame or a wider audience. She wrote mostly for her own amusement, and occasionally one or two of her friends; she didn’t often share with anyone else. For this reason, the stories she wrote didn’t have to be _good_ , they just had to be _entertaining_. There was a certain freedom in this, really, because it let her do pretty much whatever she wanted, and to the Void with whatever might be called “canon.” The only cannons which concerned her were the sort on a pirate ship anyway.

That said, their stories did have _one_ thing in common, and it was this: anyone they knew was fair game for inclusion.

Varric, in his books, would always change the names. It wasn’t hard to figure out most of them; anyone in their group could read _Hard in Hightown_ and work out that Ferris the bartender was Fenris, and Maisy the elf historian was Merrill. Isabela herself was Captain Belladonna, and she was honestly considering naming her next ship after the character as a sort of return tribute. But it amused her greatly to hear that there were fistfights in Aveline’s barracks over which guardsman had inspired Donnen, because it was obvious – at least to Isabela – that he was Varric himself.

Isabela, by comparison, didn’t bother changing names when she wrote. Why should she? If no one outside of her circle of friends was going to read her stories, there wasn’t really a need; she’d just confuse herself and them unnecessarily. Her first foray was the tawdry romp for Aveline and Donnic, which she’d composed after they finally got together, and it had just gotten more ridiculous from there. Aveline and Donnic, Fenris and Hawke, Fenris and Anders, Anders and Hawke, and one particularly nasty bit of work involving Fenris and Anders working together to make a Hawke sandwich. Actually, maybe it was better described as a layer cake, given the quantity of whipped cream involved. She’d enjoyed that one quite a bit. _They_ would probably hate it, or at least claim they did, but what they didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them.

 

* * *

 

It was a dull spring night. Isabela was in her rooms at the Hanged Man, the taproom was closed, and she was leafing through Varric’s book out of boredom. No rabble-rousing this evening, no gangs to chase or booty to claim (literal or figurative), so she resorted to reading. At least _Hard in Hightown_ was always good for a grin, and tonight she picked up on something she’d never noticed. Lady Marielle, the beautiful and devout woman with eyes of topaz, was so clearly Bethany that it was laughable. The only thing more laughable to Isabela was the evident fact that Donnen was, by the end of the story, very quietly infatuated with the widowed noblewoman.

She paused and mentally reviewed the notion for a second time. Donnen, the character she was sure was based on Varric, had a thing for the character who was obviously based on Bethany. Hm.

 _Now that’s a pairing I never wrote,_ she mused. _Varric and his precious Sunshine. Well, he’s always been sweet on the girl. I wonder if nothing ever came of it because of Hawke, or if it was for some other reason._

Smirking to herself, Isabela put the book aside and reached for some paper. She suddenly had an idea for a new piece of friend-fiction, and she wanted to start writing it before she lost the inspiration.

“Let’s see here,” she said, chewing thoughtfully on her tongue as she searched for a beginning. Kirkwall was quiet for the first time in forever and everyone was a little more relaxed, so she had to really search her imagination for a setting that was appropriate to the pairing. “These two are more fluffy than dirty, but I’ll bet I can make it work.”

 

* * *

 

_She was trapped, trapped in the tower and unable to leave. No one could reach her – no one could climb high enough, nor enter the building with enough skill to evade the Templars who guarded her like a stolen jewel. Bethany was doomed to live out her days under their watchful eyes, never again breathing the free air, never knowing the simple pleasures of being kissed in the rain or having someone run their fingers through her hair._

_At least, that’s what she thought. It came as a complete shock when a man crawled in through her window one night. As his boots hit the floor, he realized that the room was not empty, and they stared at each other in astonishment. He had hair like the farmer’s wheat fields, both on his head and on the muscled chest which was showcased by his half-opened tunic, and the moonlight outlined his brawny form in a silvery halo. A wicked twinkle glinted in his whiskey-colored eyes as he took in the sight of her; Bethany was eternal youth and beauty, with black silk hair gleaming in the glow of her reading candles. Her elegant hands clutched her satin robe close at the throat, trying and utterly failing to conceal her ample bosom from his view. “Who are you?” she managed after a moment._

_“Pardon me, madam, where are my manners?” He swept her a low and exquisitely courteous bow. “Varric Tethras, at your service. And if I may be so bold as to inquire, whom do I have the honor of addressing?”_

_“Bethany Hawke. But – what are you doing here?”_

_“There’s a rumor that this tower contains a priceless treasure,” he explained, “one that no thief has ever managed to take from the Templars. I’ve never been much on burgling, but I do love a challenge, so I had to climb up here and see this secret something described as precious beyond counting.” He paused. “I admit, you’re not what I expected.”_

_“Well, you’re certainly not what I expected either.” She shook her head, releasing her grip on the soft fabric just a little as she stood. “You should go. There’s no treasure here, only me, and if the Templars find you, they’ll kill you where you stand.”_

_“Your concern for my safety is touching. But allow me to disagree with your other statement,” he replied. “There most certainly is a treasure here, and it was worth all the trouble of climbing this tower.”_

 

* * *

 

Maybe she shouldn’t have let Merrill read it.

Isabela didn’t initially see the harm in doing so. Merrill was a bit of a covert pervert, and she _loved_ Isabela’s more colorful stories. Her main comment on the ‘layer cake’ story was to wonder if the boys would have also liked to dust Hawke in some candy sprinkles, and she borrowed it so many times that Isabela had finally given up and written Merrill a copy she could keep.

So at first, it seemed natural enough to share the new story with her. In fact, she was quite gratified by Kitten’s reactions – there was a good deal of giddy shrieking. “I love that you dressed Bethany in rose satin for this,” she gushed. “It’s such a good color for her.”

“Interesting takeaway, but all right,” Isabela replied, chuckling. “What about the rest of it?”

“Oh, it’s so _..._ I never thought of Varric as doing things like that,” Merrill admitted. “It doesn’t seem altogether like him. But when you put him in this story with Bethany, it makes sense somehow.” She paused, and pointed at something on one page. “I didn’t quite know what this part meant, though.”

“You know what a smooth talker Varric is, and how he’s really good at lying? They refer to such a person as having a ‘silver tongue’,” the writer explained patiently. “He just put it to a different use in that scene.”

“Oh. Oh! Oh, that’s very clever.” Merrill reread the passage in question. “Is this all there is?”

“I fell asleep. There’s more coming – he comes back to visit her again.”

“What about the Templars? What will they do if they catch him?”

“Catch who?” asked a new voice. They looked up and saw Varric standing in the doorway, as though the whole situation had somehow summoned him. “Oh, no, is this a new friend-fiction? It’s been way too long, let me see.”

“Oh, I’m not sure _..._ ” Isabela began, but Merrill surrendered the document eagerly.

“Wait until you see what she’s done, Varric! Oh, she turned you into such a dashing rogue,” she babbled, her tone joyful. “Not that you’re not already a dashing rogue, of course, you’re always dashing but she made you more of a rogue and oh, you’re so clever with your tongue and –“

“Kitten, stop. No spoilers.”

Varric eyed them both over the top of the papers and then commenced reading. Isabela watched him carefully; she could see his throat wobbling a few times as he apparently swallowed hard, but his self-command was such that he was able to keep his face from changing colors. “Really, Rivaini?” he asked finally. “You don’t have better things to do?”

“Oh, come on. You and Bethany are _adorable_.” She smirked. “I just took _adorable_ and went someplace else with it. Not my fault that you’re too chicken-shit to do likewise.”

To her surprise, instead of laughing like she expected, Varric actually glared at her. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll make sure Hawke never sees this one.” He handed the pages back.

“I’m not suicidal,” she retorted. Apparently she had touched a nerve, which was _..._ interesting.

 

* * *

 

_The sunlight crept through Bethany’s window, the golden glow crawling across her disheveled bed. She blinked drowsily, astonished to realize that the events of the previous night hadn’t been a dream at all._

_Varric was already awake, tying his bootlaces, and he flashed her an almost sheepish grin. “Morning, Sunshine,” he purred. “I had you up so late, I wanted to let you sleep as long as possible.”_

_“You weren’t going to leave without waking me up, were you?” She chewed on her lip, glancing nervously at the door and the window. How was he going to escape the same way he came in, without cover of darkness to shield him from Templar eyes?_

_“Perish the thought, milady,” he assured her. “If you’re not averse to the idea, I was thinking perhaps I might stage another thrilling break-in tomorrow night.”_

_“Really?”_

_A teasing smirk curled his lips. “Do you remember what I said during our first meeting, that I don’t really have a taste for burgling? I seem to have developed one.”_

_“Is that what you call it?” she teased in reply. “I suppose I could leave my window unlocked again.”_

_“Then I will invest in some better climbing equipment. And look into whether any of your captors can be bribed.” He sobered. “I know you don’t want to be here. Just be patient – I promise, I’m going to find a way to get you out of this place. Sunshine shouldn’t be locked up.”_

_“Really? You think you can find a way to free me?”_

_“If that’s what you want, I will make it my life’s mission to steal you properly. Not just the parts of you I already stole,” he added with a wink._

_“You’re terrible.” Bethany laughed. “Just be careful, all right?”_

 

* * *

 

Isabela had never shared her friend-fiction with Bethany. It was true that, during her time in the Circle, her young friend had displayed more of an interest in such things than the pirate could have anticipated. Of course, the books Isabela sent – for which Sweetness professed a deep gratitude – were only the tamest from her collection. More fluff than smut, for the most part, sort of like Varric’s writings but a little bit tawdrier. (This turned out to be for the best, since the Templars eventually confiscated them; not a huge loss.)

However, Bethany was still Bethany, and her sensibilities were still a bit more delicate. Besides, Hawke appeared in several of the stories, and since even Isabela wouldn’t want to read things like that about her siblings, if she had any, she figured that was a good reason to keep them away from Bethany’s eyes. Sure, Hawke didn’t feature in every story, but Isabela doubted that the others would appeal to her either.

Unfortunately, Bethany’s obliviousness was brought to a screeching halt.

“Isabela,” she said gravely, having knocked on her door in the Hanged Man and opened it, “I need to know what’s going on.”

“Meaning what exactly?”

“I was at the Keep, I went to visit Aveline in her office, and she was talking to Donnic,” came the reply. “They were recollecting some piece of ‘blighted’ literature, as Aveline called it, that you once wrote about the two of them before they got married. And then she said, ‘And she’s still at it! Now she’s written some horrifying thing about poor Bethany and Varric! Merrill told me, and offered to let me read it.’ So I said, ‘What are you talking about?’ and that’s when they realized I was there. Isabela, what _is_ ‘friend-fiction’?”

Isabela offered the only defense that leaped into her mind. “You know, Sweetness, Merrill is absolutely right,” she said, studying the younger woman’s face. “Shades of rose really _are_ perfect for your complexion. Varric’s right too, you need to do more shopping in the Hightown market with Hawke’s credit. Why don’t we go up there and find you something fetching in Orlesian silk? Maybe low-cut and daring?”

“Quit trying to turn on the charm, what did you write about Varric and me?”

“You have such pretty eyes.”

“Isabela _..._ ”

The pirate sighed. “Promise you won’t tell Hawke?”

Bethany’s eyes widened in mild alarm. “Is it _that_ bad?”

“Well _..._ I’ll let you decide for yourself.” She retrieved the (now somewhat larger) sheaf of papers and surrendered them. “I think you’ll probably want to sit down for this _..._ and maybe I’d better get you a strong drink.”

Isabela couldn’t entirely suppress the urge to chuckle which raged through her as she watched Bethany read. When they’d first met, the mage had been not yet twenty years old, a blushing virgin, and almost entirely wholesome. She was older now, of course, and not quite as wholesome (thanks in part to those books the Templars had taken from her), but the blushing was still very much in evidence as her enormous brown eyes drank in the words on the page. “Isabela,” she managed, “this is _vulgar_!”

“Oh, please, I’ve written much worse than that!”

“I don’t think I want to know. Why did you – why is Varric looking at my bosom in this part? He doesn’t look at my bosom!”

“Really? He looks at mine all the time. But maybe that’s just because it’s at his eye level,” Isabela mused. “You’re closer to his height than I am. Sweetness, Varric is a pervert. You’ve just never noticed because he always tries to be a gentleman for you.”

Bethany looked a little distressed at this assertion, and turned her attention back to the story. “What does this even mean, this part about the ‘string of pearls’?”

“Oh, that’s what it’s called when you leave a trail of kiss marks down –”

“ _Never mind! Forget I asked!_ ” She kept reading, however. “Against the wall? How can that possibly be comfortable?”

“Like I said, you’re closer to Varric’s height than I am. Otherwise I wouldn’t recommend it, it could be really awkward.”

“This is terrible and I don’t think I want to read any more,” Bethany declared. She paused. “Also, why does it end here?”

Isabela laughed. “I don’t spend all my time writing like certain dwarves I could mention. I have to do it in chunks. Don’t want to read any more, hmm? So you don’t want to know how he gets you out of that tower?”

“Does it matter? I mean – it’s not real, any of it.”

“Maybe not, Sweetness, but it could be. You don’t think I’m just putting you two in a story together for funsies, now, do you?” Isabela paused. “I mean, I _am_ , but not _just_ for funsies. I’ve never written about either of you until this, because I can’t seem to imagine either of you with anyone but each other.”

Bethany was as pink as the robe she wore in the beginning of the story. Really, Merrill was right about it suiting her complexion. “It’s just that I’ve never – still – and I _..._ ”

“Still? After all this time, you never got that night at the Blooming Rose? Ooh, I need to have a word with Hawke, that was on my tab – if _you_ didn’t get the night, then whose fun did I pay for?!”

“I don’t know, but it wasn’t mine. But I just _..._ I can’t even picture myself doing the things you have me doing here! And with Varric _..._?”

Isabela paused. “You know he’s more than a little sweet on you, right?”

“What? No!” Bethany should not have been able to blush any harder than she already was, but she managed it.

“Oh, balls, you two are precious. Yes, he is. Maker knows when he’s planning to tell you himself, but consider yourself warned.” She chuckled. “Not that I think you mind, Sweetness.”

“I need to be going _..._ ”

“Cold bath time? I understand completely. You want me to make sure you get a copy of the whole thing when it’s done?”

“No! Uh. Maybe? I don’t know.” Bethany handed over the story and stood. “I’m going to try to get out of here without seeing him. I don’t think I could look him in the eyes right now.”

 

* * *

 

_“How did you learn to climb the tower like that, anyway?” Bethany asked idly. “It doesn’t seem like something you should be able to do.”_

_“Really? I’ve been coming here for a month now, you’re intimately acquainted with the miracles my hands can perform, and it’s the climbing that surprises you?” came the teasing reply. “The truth isn’t all that exciting, Sunshine. You have a strong enough rope and an even stronger determination to get where you’re going, you can do almost anything.”_

_“And to think, it was all just because you thought there was some kind of precious treasure in this tower.”_

_“There is,” Varric reminded her, toying with her hair. Her lips were kiss-swollen and her eyes were impossibly bright. “I’m just lucky no one else managed to get up here to steal it.”_

_“I suppose I have been well and truly stolen, haven’t I?”_

_“Not completely. Not yet. How soon can you be ready to leave this place?”_

_“Can we go now?”_

_He chuckled. “How about tomorrow? I should have everything I need by tomorrow, and we’ll escape into the night. I’ll be the most famous thief in history and you’ll be the best thing anybody ever stole.”_

_She smiled. “You promise?”_

_“I promise.”_

 

* * *

 

“Am I to understand that you're writing terribly smutty fiction about my _sister_ , Isabela?”

She looked up to see Hawke standing in the doorway – arms folded, face like a thundercloud. _As Varric might say... well, shit._ “Who told you?”

“Who told me? How many people know about it?!”

“Um _..._ ” She started counting on her fingers, but the bigger the number got, the angrier Hawke seemed to be. “Five? I think? Six if you count me. Calm down, Hawke, it’s not like I was expecting _you_ to read it.”

“You're writing stories about _my sister_ , Isabela. Stop it, now.”

“You haven’t even asked about who else is in them.” She offered what she hoped was a sweet smile. “You have pretty eyes. Especially when you’re pissy.”

“Isabela...”

“Honestly, if he’d just get off his arse and make the girl happy, we’d never even be having this discussion!” Isabela pouted. “Really, if you think about it that way, this is all Varric’s fault.”

“Var _..._ wait.” Hawke blinked. “You’re writing smutty fiction about my sister and _Varric_?”

“Well, really, who else?”

There was a pause. “Okay, fair.”

“Oh, so it’s not my imagination, then?” She chuckled. “I didn’t think so. I usually imagine much more interesting things.”

“No, it’s not. I don’t know what he’s waiting for, really.” Hawke’s eyes narrowed. “But if I ever find out that he was inspired to do any of the things you wrote about them doing – whatever they are – I know where you live. Just remember that.”

“So does Zevran. Would you like me to invite him for a visit?”

There was another pause. “Stop trying to distract me.”

“But it’s so much fun and you’re so easily distracted. You know, if you’re interested, I’ve written a story with you in it. And whipped cream.”

“Shows what you know,” Hawke countered. “I’m allergic to dairy.”

“ _You_ weren’t the one eating it, Hawke. You were more like the _..._ serving platter. The dessert, if you will.”

Hawke groaned. “I don’t know who’s worse at bad-touching words, you or Varric. It might actually be you.”

“Look, I don’t want to argue. I never intended for anyone to read the story about Bethany, except maybe Merrill, but she got excited and told Varric. Now he’s annoyed with me because I called him a chicken-shit,” Isabela added. “But it’s like I told Aveline when she hooked up with Donnic – it’s friend-fiction and I do it out of love. I’d like those two to be happy. Your sister is such an innocent thing.” She paused. “Speaking of which, why didn’t she ever get her night at the Blooming Rose?”

“ _Isabela_.”

“Fine, but I do want that question answered eventually. Back to topic, then. Varric is your best friend – why don’t you put a bug in his ear about all this? I’d bet my nonexistent ship that Bethany’s open to it, judging by the colors her face turned when we talked about it, and I know he’s been all sorts of mopey ever since he got back from Ferelden.”

Hawke looked contemplative, which was encouraging. Isabela was starting to think she might survive the conversation after all. “You think, what, exactly? That he’s afraid to date my sister because of me?”

“You _are_ our terrifying Champion. I’m sure he’s not the first man to hesitate because of you. Let him be the last.”

“That’s _..._ that’s actually very sensible advice,” Hawke admitted. “Since when are you good at that?”

“Hey, just because I write about two or three people rutting until the cows come home doesn’t mean that I don’t think other things have their place.” She shrugged. “Your sister’s a romantic. I think Varric might be too.”

 

* * *

 

_“How does it feel to have your feet on solid ground again, Sunshine?”_

_“Maker, I can smell the free air. I’d forgotten what it was like,” Bethany admitted. “The night is so chilly and sharp. It’s sort of glorious.”_

_“You sure you have everything?”_

_“I’ve got everything I’ve ever wanted,” she promised._

_“Funny,” said Varric, leading her away from the tower, “I never even knew what it was that I wanted until I found it.” His hand was warm around hers._

_“So... where are we going, exactly?”_

_“We’ll go back to my place first, and from there I thought we’d hire a ship. Get plenty of space between you and anyone who ever wanted to keep you locked up,” he explained. “I own some land in Antiva that I’ve been meaning to visit, figure out what I want to do with it.”_

_“I haven’t been on a ship in years.”_

_“I think we’ll enjoy it. I hear really good things about the rhythm of the waves.”_

_Bethany laughed. “Maybe you’ll decide to turn pirate.”_

_“I might, at that,” Varric admitted. “But only as long as you’re my first mate.”_

_“We can talk about that. Later, after the sun rises.”_

_“Milady Sunshine, as far as I’m concerned, it already has.”_

 

* * *

 

“What a sweet ending!” Merrill gushed. “It’s not at all like your other stories, but that’s all right. It wouldn’t be Bethany and Varric if it were.”

“That’s what I was thinking. You know, this one really isn’t as trashy as the others, maybe I should pull a Varric. Change the names and publish.”

“I’d be careful about that,” said Hawke, claiming a seat at their table and motioning to Edwina. “Varric says the smut market is cutthroat, literally. But maybe he can introduce you to his editor, she’d know what to do.”

“You’d be okay with my publishing this story about your sister?” Isabela asked teasingly.

“Hey, if you change the names, nobody will ever know it’s about my sister.”

“I’ll think about it. Where is everyone? Are we playing cards or what?”

“Aveline and Donnic should be here shortly.” Hawke stretched, and accepted a mug from the barmaid. “Varric won’t be joining us. He’s got a date.”

“Oh?” Merrill inquired. “Another arrangement with the Merchants’ Guild? He hates going on those.”

“Nope.” Hawke chuckled. “He’s out with his Sunshine. Hopefully life is _not_ imitating art, or whatever you call that story.”

“I don’t imagine it could,” said Merrill thoughtfully. “After all, she’s not locked in a tower by Templars – well, not _anymore_ – and he doesn’t have to climb the wall to get to her. He might give her a string of pearls, though. Real ones, I mean, not the –”

“Kitten! No spoilers!”

 

* * *

 

**_~Fin~_ **


End file.
